When You Need To Know Your Father

The kids have been coming to me these past few weeks.
To squeeze my arm and say, "You okay, Mom?"
And as I scrub the burnt-on egg from that stainless steel pan. (again!)
My Sarah-girl slips her arm right 'round my once-waist.
She says it quiet and so, SO brave.
"Mom, come sit with me awhile?"

We push into the chair that holds us both close.
The girl takes her mama straight into her arms.
My head on her shoulder, and the tears already streaming.
The wise daughter rubs her fingers down my bare arm.
And asks and asks and asks.
Because sometimes we don't know now, do we?

Sometimes we need a little help getting there.
When the wound is ocean wide but...
You can't see the forest for the trees?
She says, "Press into the Father, Mom."
I nod my head.
I know Him.

The Father of the fatherless.
The Protector of orphans.
The Redeemer of all things lost and stolen and bare and broken.
The King of all things, and that means my heart.
The Savior of the world, and that means me.
And we come to this place where I can finally lay it down.

I think of my Jesus.

He took the nails that were the whole truth about me.
And The Truth hurts, friends.
The Truth pierces straight through and goes to the grave.
It impales our pride and puts our flesh to death.
Yes.

But the Truth also raises us up.
It brings us up out of the grave, yes?
It is light and life because He is light and life.

I press close to Abba Father's side.
Like a small child, I hide myself in Him.
I ask Him this question:

"What do You think of me, Lord?"

I work at being still.
Not reaching for the phone.
Not picking up another book.
Just listening.

Because this fear of man is wearing me out.
Man's judgement is cruel.
My own judge is the cruelest of all.
And I long to be held in the hands of a righteous judge.

Even if He breaks me into a million pieces.

The Truth holds me close and tight and trustworthy.
This Savior Who gave His life for me.
Who loves me.
Who delights in me.
Who sings songs of deliverance over me.

And I...
I want to stack some stones.
Not thrown.
So I will never forget the hands that took the nails.
So I will never have to go back to the shadow lands again.

So I can live free.

In my Father's Love,

Bernadette